The airship swayed. Chains rattled against the enchanted haul. The slaves dug their magical oars into the wind currents with more tenacity as the whips cracked across their backs.

Kesh had to keep up with the group. A useless slave ended up served in the next stew.

The Tigrakans were large winged tiger-men. They’d tear the skin off their face to expose parts of their skull. To them, all other living creatures were lower lifeforms.

Kech saw a slave topple over in exhaustion. The man was too thin. He wouldn’t see the pot. No, he served another purpose.

The slave was walked to the stern, a noose was put around his neck, and he was tossed overboard.

Kesh recalled the day this airship soared over his village. He saw slaves hanging like morbid ornaments under the hull. Then the ropes were cut as the airship passed over the city. Tigrakans had a way of demoralizing a town fairly rapidly before they’d swoop down and replenish their slave supply.

The village of Parigoria was up ahead. Kesh knew they’d be next.